The Thank You in the Diner
by UberPest
Summary: Enjoying a dinner at the Diner, someone tells Booth “thank you.” Set several months after "Santa in the Slush"
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Thank You in the Diner

**Spoilers:** None. Set the March after "Santa in the Slush".

**Tag:** Enjoying a dinner at the Diner, someone tells Booth "thank you."

**Disclaimer:** Anyone or anything you recognize is not mine.

* * *

Dr. Temperance Brennan sat opposite her partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth, in their usual booth at the Diner. She absently picked at the pasta in front of her while he talked about some sports game that was on the previous night. Based on the Scandinavian and Russian names he spoke easily, she assumed it was hockey.

"...And then the puck bounced right over Toskala's glove and into the net. Hundred and ninety seven feet." He pointed at her with both hands and leaned back triumphantly.

Her eyes focused on his grinning face. "That's good, right?"

"Good? That's _awesome._ Bones, have you listened to even one word I've been saying?"

She was about to say something when the door opened and a woman on crutches and carrying a backpack made her way into the diner. She was thin and pale with long brown hair pulled up under a wool cap. Brennan noticed the woman's left leg—it was braced to the knee but most of the metal and plastic was hidden under worn blue jeans. The tip of a stocking clad toe stuck out from the brace's padding. Brennan subconsciously studied how the woman moved—her brain automatically picking up on the postural clues to the injury.

The woman carefully made her way to the counter stool closest to the door. Holding herself up against the counter with one elbow, she placed both crutches next to the stool. She dropped the backpack under the stool, shrugged off her coat and placed it over the seat before sitting down. With an odd look on her face she studied the faces of the other patrons. She paused, looking at Booth, then looked around the diner again. She smiled and spoke with the waitress behind the counter, who poured her a cup of coffee. The woman stood, flexed her braced leg and took a deep breath.

The woman—Brennan observed she was a few years younger than herself—left the crutches propped up near the counter and slowly hobbled her way over to their table, taking care not to spill a drop of the hot coffee cradled in her hands.

Brennan observed her gait and spoke, a statement more than a question as the woman arrived.

"Non-displaced fracture of the posterior distal tibia."

The woman blinked, obviously caught off guard. "Yeah. I slipped on some ice six weeks ago. It takes a lot less force to break a bone than you'd think." Brennan smiled at that. "I just got the brace yesterday. A few more weeks to go and I'll be okay again. It sucks, though. I'm used to being more active."

The woman straightened up as best she could, balancing her weight between her good leg and the brace. "Sir," she said to Booth. "This is going to be a little weird, and I don't mean to bother you two, but I have to buy you a cup of coffee." She gently placed the steaming mug on the table top next to his elbow. He didn't move. Brennan looked from Booth to the woman and back.

Booth furrowed his brow and looked at Brennan. She raised an eyebrow as if to say "Go ahead," and he turned to their visitor.

"Okay. Um, do you mind if I ask why?"

The woman nodded and started what sounded like an almost rehearsed speech. "I know a guy who, um, who was Army. 1969-1975. He, uh. He's," she rubbed a curled index finger over her eyebrow, then nervously ran her hand over her face and looked down, not making eye contact. "He's still waiting for his 'Thank You,' you know?" She took another deep breath. "He taught me, us kids, _his_ kids, to say thanks when we could, however we could and I promised to do that. So, I, um. I thought I'd get you a cup of coffee. I know it's not much, not enough, but it's all I can ever think to do spur of the moment..." She trailed off, realizing she was rambling, and looked back at the two. "Thank you. For what you did for us."

Booth slowly nodded with a knowing smile and moved the cup in front of him. "Thank _you. _How'd you know?"

"I'm kind of good at reading people." She shrugged, "Comes in handy sometimes." She shifted uncomfortably. "Anyway, I'm sorry to interrupt; sorry to bother you. I'll let you get back to your meal. Have a good night. Thanks again." The woman turned, not looking back at the couple and sat back at her place at the counter.

Booth looked down at the coffee with unfocused eyes and turned the mug in his hands, lost in thought.

Brennan spoke softly, "_What_ was that about?" Her analytical mind couldn't see the anthropological or logical significance of this kind of gift.

Booth wiped at his eyes and looked at Brennan. "That was from one soldier to another. It's kind of hard to explain."

* * *

**A/N: **_I know someone who does this, it's a bittersweet thing to see._

_Please R&R, this is my second _Bones_ story and I'm not sure if I've got the characterization even close-- which is also hard to tell in short stuff._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own anything you recognize, unfortunately.

**Spoilers:** None (at least I don't think so)

**A/N:** This is a continuation of the first chapter, which I meant to be a stand alone one shot. I got a few folks that wanted to see Booth's reaction and I hope I got it right. (I just rewatched "The Soldier on the Grave" last night). I hope it's not too angsty.

**A/N 2:** Not an update, just fixed a couple of typos.

* * *

The light mood of Booth's play-by-play of the previous night's hockey game was now gone, replaced on his face by a pensive look. Brennan didn't push him, deciding if he wanted to explain what happened he would.

They finished their meal in silence. When they stood to leave Brennan noticed their visitor was gone. Booth was still quiet when they reached the street. He turned away from the SUV. He needed to walk.

"You okay, Booth?" she asked, trying to read his face. She knew him well enough to know he was dealing with some heavy thoughts.

"Yeah. It's just weird."

"What is?"

"The way things change. How it's different for everyone. We all see it differently when we're there and we all deal with it in different ways when we come back."

"How so?" Bones asked, gently prodding.

Booth looked at her. "When my shoulder went out I realized I had to pay for school somehow, playing ball wasn't going to do it any more. My grades weren't good, at least not good enough for scholarships. I talked things over with my dad and I enlisted." He thought about how much he should tell her of his time overseas. "I wasn't a very good person. I did what I had to, I was good at it. But _I_ wasn't good."

"I'm sorry, Booth."

"It's not your fault," he said, shaking his head. "It's done now, anyway."

They walked for some time in silence, stopping at a bus bench. Booth sat first, looking down at his hands. Brennan joined him, giving him space, but still letting him know she was there with a hand on his forearm.

"When I got back, my Dad tried to help me out with what I saw, what I'd done, but I couldn't talk about it even if I'd wanted to. The hardest thing was that he was my _dad_. Like Parker and me. I might have been all grown up, but I was still his kid. I think it killed him that he couldn't help, couldn't fix it. When he was in he flew. He wasn't on the ground. It was different. It was still hard on him, but not in the same way it was for the guys on the ground. I think he knew--knows--that, but it doesn't make it any easier to see your kid hurting and not be able to do something."

Brennan slid her hand into his and he gave a light thankful squeeze.

"I know everyone deals a little differently, too. You try to go on; to be normal. But they can't take it away. They take away the uniform; take away your job. Tell you you're done and now it's time to go home and forget what happened. Forget what you saw and what you did. Don't think about it, don't see it when you close your eyes. Go be a son, a brother, a father, a husband. But it doesn't work that way."

Brennan knew he wasn't talking in general terms any more. Everyone thought she had a thick shell, but Booth did, too. He was just better at not letting his show.

Booth continued voice shaky, "You wear the uniform, but you never take it off, not really. It's part of you now, part of who you _are_. You never sit with your back to a door. You listen for little out-of-place noises, You look for things that just aren't quite right. You watch people. Always look for an way out. Never let your guard down. Always look out for your partner." He sighed, "You don't even realize you're doing it. Not most of the time, anyway."

Brennan realized that's what the young woman at the diner saw. Saw the way he sat and where. Saw how he held himself. Saw him watching the people around the two of them.

"That girl's father, when he was in was in, the military was different. People _treated _the military different. Now people shake your hand, tell you thanks, buy you a cup of coffee. But back then," he shook his head and looked at Brennan.

"Bones, that guy, he was in around the same time as my dad. Probably didn't have a choice, either. They went in, wanting to be heroes like their fathers, or because they were told they had to. They did what they could-- just like now-- but instead of being respected like their fathers when they came home," his voice cracked and took on a hard tone. "They were taunted. Called horrible names. _Spat on_. It was disgraceful." His stomach twisted and he gripped Brennan's hand tightly. "It's because of guys being treated like that back then that guys _now_ come back and--" He paused, looking for the words, and Bones finished his sentence for him.

"They're appreciated." She rubbed at his hand with hers. "Guys like that taught their children respect."

Booth bobbed his head. "Yeah, Bones. And that really _means_ something."

Booth pulled free of her hand and slid his arm around her shoulders in a familiar comforting gesture and closed his eyes. She leaned into his chest. He was done talking, at least for now. Brennan knew he needed support and she'd be there for him like he was always there for her. Right now it was her turn to look out for her partner.

* * *

_There were a couple of things I wanted to say here that I just couldn't get to fit. I hope you like it. Thanks for all the great feedback on the first part. I am attempting to respond to each and every one of you.  
_


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